


A Lifetime Of Calamities...The Laws of Heaven and Earth Remix

by copperbadge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-25
Updated: 2005-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:25:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter tells it like it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lifetime Of Calamities...The Laws of Heaven and Earth Remix

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a lifetime of calamities followed by dangerous illnesses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/775073) by [blythely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythely/pseuds/blythely). 



Listen, I don't have to fucking justify myself to you or to anyone else, all right? I saved the Wizarding World and the Muggle world too, come to think of it, and don't you believe I like the Muggle world all that much more than any given Malfoy on any given day. And I did it all six months ahead of schedule, so Happy fucking Christmas.

I could have done a lot worse than what I'm doing. Do you have any idea the kind of power killing a bloody Dark Lord gets you? Do you? No, I thought not. I could be Lord Someoneorother, Supreme Ruler of the World -- Rajah Merstoperty or something equally stupid, thank you very much -- so if you don't mind I'll take whatever piece of arse I feel like taking, and it isn't exactly as though he's been putting up much of a fight.

Okay, so I will admit that it was kind of Narcissa to get rid of Malfoy the Smaller (a misnomer, as it turns out) for the five months it took to kill him. Voldemort, not Malfoy the Actually Quite Decently Large. Besides, Draco learned a few tricks which will serve him well if the Malfoy fortunes are ever in doubt and he has to use his one particular talent to earn his way.

I heard the whispers from the Slytherins, but only after Malfoy returned; he'd been in India, in Goa wherever that is, with some arse named Javinder. You would think he would be grateful that I did him the favour of killing the Dark Lord, since Draco hasn't really the energy to make it as any kind of an Apprentice of Evil, even if he had the power, which he doesn't.

All in all, a very average boy, Draco Malfoy. Yes, your average, queer, adolescent wizard.

Well, honestly, did he think one couldn't see him checking out one's arse when he did it in the middle of the bloody Great Hall?

***

I happen to like Scottish winters. I like rain and snow and sleet and freezing cold. I like Scottish springs, too. I like damp and mud. I suspect, at heart, I am a football hooligan. Quidditch is ten times as brilliant as football, you know that, but really there's an essential football-hooliganness about playing it. If Oliver Wood left any lasting legacy with the team other than the memorable time I walked in on him getting a special private post-game cheer from Fred Weasley, it's that Quidditch isn't a sport, it's a religion.

He certainly had an interesting idea of communion. 

The point is, once again, Draco Malfoy is boring in his tastes and prefers hot, arid places where there's not much to do other than lay around and stare at the ceiling fans, while I like the damp and cold and wet. So I let him work out all his whining about the weather and some of his latent rebound frustration on Zacharias Smith, who was clearly sub-par compared to the arse Javinder, and who makes me look like a fucking sex god in comparison. That's what Ginny Weasley told me, anyway, when she was having it off with both of us (consecutively, not concurrently) last spring. Don't tell Ron about that.

Finally I decided he was probably getting bored with Zacharias, so I started showing off. To be honest, wandless magic is a lot less difficult than the professors tell a bloke, probably because they don't want just anyone to be able to toss off a hex without having to go for their wand like some kind of American Old West film. The amount of Wandless I can do stuns Malfoy, though he doesn't want to admit it, but I could probably teach him a few moves if I felt so inclined. I actually think he likes feeling a bit inferior. It's a novel sensation when you're a mediocre Slytherin amongst really abysmal Slytherins.

It was nice that _he_ came to _me_ , actually. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to proposition him, because Malfoy likes to think he's in charge. He whines if he thinks he isn't, and that's unattractive in a grown man. Really, he might be the lifelong challenge I'm looking for, since after fighting a war and killing an immortal evil, most ordinary relationships are a bit bland.

I was out practicing Quidditch dives, actually had just finished, when he found me. It was freezing, but of course that puts a bit of a flush in one's cheeks. He wanted a "word", and I knew what that meant, and I tried to let him know but I think at the time he just thought I was being insufferable as usual.

Anyhow, we exchanged the usual unpleasantries and I asked if he'd walk back with me, since it was fucking freezing out on the pitch. Which really meant I wanted to see if he'd follow me, and lo and behold, he did. He had to put in a word about my dives being rubbish as we walked, but then I'd like to see him do better. Besides, all our training gear is tight and what isn't tight is leather and while Quidditch does not, actually, create terribly good muscle tone in most places, clenching your thighs around a broomstick for hours at a time does tend to give you an arse you could bounce a Sickle on.

To be frank, I didn't want Malfoy getting ideas about us being anything casual or boring. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter in combination are nothing if not spectacular. Spectacularly ill, perhaps, or more recently spectacularly perverse, but always spectacular.

I realise that what I did next was a stupid idea. Really, I do. But I hadn't thought he'd be so unsubtle. And besides, I knew that I was only putting things off, since it was magic alone that was keeping me from getting ill at that point. Something had been lurking around my body for months, trying to get a foothold, and I'd been keeping myself reasonably healthy until after NEWTs, but I thought it was only a bit of flu and we'd get to stay in the hospital wing for a day or three with nothing much to do but each other. I mean, one can be unwell enough to stay out of classes without being too ill to do _anything_ interesting.

So right around the time we left the pitch I opened the immune system floodgates and let whatever it was take over. I didn't think it was going to be the bloody _measles_. Or that they'd infect so fast. Magical Measles. Sounds like a Lockhart book.

"Did you fly in India?" I asked as we walked, because small talk only works for me when I'm talking about flying.

"Yes," he replied, and said something about not having to layer on gear in hot climates. Which on the one hand makes for a nice mental image of Malfoy naked, but nobody wants to see anyone naked astride a broomstick, that's just absurd. So I smiled a little to humour him, and scratched at an itchy spot on my chin as I unlocked the side-door to the castle. Wandlessly, of course.

Draco Malfoy likes power, and I have power. Just call me Rajah, then.

"So," I said, intending to follow it with something shocking or other, I don't quite recall, but he took my broom and was a little less subtle than even I'd given him credit for. So, when his hand slid around my neck it came out more like "So....ooh."

I honestly wouldn't have thought Malfoy for the sort who'd go in for any kind of romance, which is mostly correct, but I guess when he's seducing someone he likes them to think he's sensitive. I remember his hands were freezing, which was sort of nice, under the circumstances. And that he pushed my glasses up, and pulled me in closer.

I don't actually remember much after that, except feeling flushed and wanting to feel more of Malfoy's cold hands and cheeks. Rubbing bodies were, I recall, just beginning to get pleasantly involved when things went rather unhappily black.

***

He really does like to feel just a little inferior, which is why he never puts up that much of a fight when you get down to it.

By the time I was conscious again in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey and Professor Vector were asking just how close our "close contact" was, to see if he needed quarantine too. He could have made a much bigger stink than just "he was not" when I said that I was kissing him.

Well, I'm fucking Harry Potter, I can get away with anything, and as Draco is fucking Harry Potter he can get away with quite a lot.

Did you know that when I was sixteen Madam Pomfrey tried to sit me down and talk to me about sexual choices? I think it was because between the war and school I really had no extra energy to put into hiding the fact that Finch-Fletchly and I sometimes fucked in the Quidditch showers. Anyway, Pomfrey gave up pretty quickly, because really, it wasn't like I was going to get Finch-Fletchley -- or Creevy, or Malfoy for that matter -- pregnant, and I've always been clean about things. There wasn't much she could do.

(I should point out that not all of Hogwarts is gay, it's just that most of Hogwarts can't get laid. Nobody seemed to mind _Ginny_ and me in the showers.)

So back to the story, Pomfrey and Professor Vector eventually just shoved Draco and me into the isolation ward and locked the door behind us. I think they really did think we'd be too sick to get up to anything.

Malfoy looked comically dismayed. Especially at the idea of the itching. He didn't seem to care that we were in a private room with two beds, lots of lotion (for the itching) and no authority figures in sight.

Really, the boy is endearingly dim sometimes. 

***

Now, we couldn't precisely get right down to things, because we _were_ sick, and what ended up happening was that I fell asleep for twelve hours.

You can't blame me, really. 

***

The summer after -- well, after Sirius died, if one wants to be blunt about it -- you remember, I got to spend some time with Charlie Weasley, handling dragons in Thailand. It was hot and muggy and the mosquitos were actually the size of my head. It's one of the odd failings of the magical world that nothing, Muggle or Wizarding, actually repels mosquitos like it says it's going to. When Charlie told me what to do to stop the itching, I really did think he was feeding me a line, but Charlie's straight, as it turns out. Straighter than Percy, even.

"Come," he said. 

"What?" I asked.

"Works like a charm."

"What does?"

"Harry, they didn't tell me you were simple," Charlie said. He waited for a few seconds.

"Ohh," I said. 

"Just, you know. To stop the itching at night. You're fifteen, right? I remember fifteen," Charlie said nostalgically. "A sharp wind would set me off."

The thing was, it worked. I don't know how or why but you started out with your hand and some lotion and you ended up with an interesting cure for mosquito-bite itch. That was a fun summer.

When I woke up from my twelve-hour hibernation I was itching like crazy and so, you know, it's not like anyone but Malfoy was going to see me. And if it came to that, _mmm_ , Malfoy. So I shucked the pyjamas and took care of things. A little lotion, a little effort, and the mental image of Malfoy's hair all blown around his face like it was when we kissed, and I had settled into quite a satisfying rhythm, which had the added benefit of, with my hips arching off the bed, scratching my back.

Of course, Malfoy _would_ wake up then. 

I didn't bother stopping. It wasn't like it was going to be the last time he'd see me do it. Or do it to me, with any luck. Just a little sharp tug at the top, ohh, slide down and run my thumb along the underside, hit that one little sensitive part just under the head --

"Are you wanking, Potter?"

 _Are you wanking_ , he asks me. 

"Shh," I said.

"You could at least wake me."

But the hint of inferiority in his voice and the fact that he knew what I was doing brought out that wonderful floaty sensation you get right before -- "Ah-h-h!"

He was pouting. He had to be pouting.

"Sorry," I said, and then by way of explanation, as I put the results to good use, "It stops the itching."

"I itch," he complained, and Christ, even at seventeen a sharp wind will set a fellow off, let alone Draco Malfoy demanding to be molested. He didn't seem to be moving, and the cold air was sort of nice, you know, draws the fever down a little, so I got up and hoped nobody was peeping through the window in the door -- though even if they were, may I remind you, _Harry fucking Potter_ \-- and stripped off Malfoy's blankets.

Oooh, he was lovely warm, but he certainly didn't seem to mind me taking advantage, so I did. He muttered something about talking, but by that time he was really just a pleasant blur (left my glasses behind -- I seemed to do that a lot, or maybe Malfoy hid them, whatever) with a very hard cock.

I mean, really, you have no idea. We got into this position where he had one knee up against my hip and just grinding up into me, begging me really. Not in so many words, of course, but one of these days I'll get him to actually beg. Anyway, at the time he started making these lovely little high breathy noises in his throat, sort of oh -- _oh -- Potter --_

Which, grandly enough, provided just what I was looking for to finish off the bumps on my ribs with.

He has a really nice mouth, too, Malfoy. Sort of soft and his teeth are really small, which helps. And he _likes_ it. _Really_ likes it. And for someone who's all over the concept of Pureblood snobbery -- would you credit it, he blamed my slow recovery time on being half-Muggleborn -- he sure doesn't mind _taking it_ from a half-blood.

Slow recovery time from the _measles_ , I mean. I was faster than him on everything else. Well, almost everything else. Anyhow, the actual sex didn't go so well, but it felt good anyway. He has such a pretty spine when it arches like that.

Draco has some kind of ideas about karma, which is funny given who he is and the millions of times he's fucked me over, so I guess it's some kind of retribution, getting to fuck him back, even if it seems like he enjoys this a lot more than I enjoyed that. By the time we weren't contagious anymore, it didn't really matter.

We work, you know; he needs someone who can keep up with him, and I like having a pretty blond boy running around the place. I mean, if you think I'm lying, you should have seen his face. He was so unhappy when he heard we were getting out of quarantine -- because of course in a hospital bed is the only place we could possibly ever get each other off four times a day.

Hell, he's rich and I'm rich. If I had taken his advice and assumed my place in the Wizarding World as a young-man-of-leisure instead of playing professional Quidditch, we could be having glorious sex in London right now, and instead I'm here stuck in some bar in Manchester, for god's sake, telling you about it.

The point is, he decided to declare it was "just a thing" when he heard we were going to be discharged soon, and I said sure it was, and turned him over and fucked him through the hospital bed.

And that's how it happened.

***

Remus Lupin thinks he hasn't had enough to drink, but no amount of alcohol in the world is enough to cope with the story Harry's just told.

" _That's_ how you shacked up with Draco Malfoy?" he asks, mouth a little dry and trousers definitely a little too tight.

"Pretty much," Harry says, sipping his beer sloppily. It _did_ take quite a lot of alcohol to get him to talk about it, since Harry's pretty tightlipped, and Remus was a little worried when Harry started out by declaring that he didn't have to _justify_ himself. Remus didn't really want justification, he just wanted to know how the hell Harry and Draco, who had been at each other's throats six years ago, ended up sharing what is, admittedly, a gorgeously decorated flat in the fashionable side of Diagon Alley. Draco likes Muggle Chinese art, and the place is filled with tasteful lacquerwork furniture and brocade hangings. Harry has a private study in the flat that's full of Quidditch paraphenalia and looks like it was lifted straight out of  
his Hogwarts dormitory room.

"And you're still with him," he says, disbelievingly.

Harry shrugged. "It's not like we're exclusive. Why, fancy a toss?"

"Merlin, you _are_ drunk."

Harry leans forward, conspiratorially. "I am a man," he says, "of easy virtue."

"Clearly, if you're buggering Lucius Malfoy's boy."

"But we make a pretty picture, don't we?"

Remus swallows. 

"Yes," he answers. 

"Because Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together are nothing if not spectacular," Harry declares. "Heaven and earth, Remus, heaven and earth."

"I'm sure it's nothing more than you deserve," Remus murmurs. 

"Draco thinks so. The bastard won't shut up about karma."

"If it exists, Harry," Remus says quietly, "you definitely owe me for sitting peacefully through that whole story."

Harry slides over in the booth a little and one hand drifts around to the inside of Remus' thigh, suggestively.

"That could be arranged," he purrs, "if you stop by the flat sometime," and Remus wonders if enough bad things have happened to him in the world to make up karmically for all the good things that could happen if he visits Harry and Draco's flat sometime.

Heaven and earth might move.


End file.
